


she doesn't kiss me on the mouth anymore

by renhyuck (thereisnoreality)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Possibly Unrequited Love, but like.. strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnoreality/pseuds/renhyuck
Summary: she doesn't kiss me on the mouth anymore // 'cause it's more intimate, than she thinks we should get





	she doesn't kiss me on the mouth anymore

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this is an hour listening to strangers by halsey on repeat that entire time... so that should give a good idea of what this is about

Doyoung slides her hair out of her ponytail, the relief rippling across her scalp as she lets her hair down for the first time in hours. The club is loud, too loud to be comfortable, and it’s disgustingly humid, the brief flashes of light thrown around the room by the laser lights illuminating the sweat clinging to skin, pooling in the curve of collarbones, sliding down bobbing throats gasping for air in the slick, wet air of the room.

 

Yuta is on the edge of the crowd but not for much longer if the way she way she throws back her shot is any indication. Doyoung purses her lips as Yuta catches her eyes and winks, dragging her tongue messily across her lips, spilling more alcohol than ends up her in mouth. She always was a sloppy drunk. Yuta makes her way to Doyoung, tripping on her absurdly tall heels before catching herself on Doyoung’s waist, hands gripping hard at the bare skin.

 

“Dance with me,” Yuta says, leaning in too close. She stinks of tequila and there’s glitter all down her face and neck.

 

“So I can watch you make a fool of yourself up close?” Doyoung asks, leaning against the bar. Yuta follows, pressing up against her, close enough that her bangs brush against Doyoung’s. “No thanks.”

 

“I am a fantastic dancer,” Yuta says, pouting obnoxiously, lips pushing out exaggeratedly. There’s a faint trail of where the tequila spilled from her mouth, leading down her jaw to the top of her collarbones. Doyoung tracks it for a second, transfixed, and Yuta catches the movement, smirking. “Come on,” she urges, thumbs smoothing up and down Doyoung’s waist, catching on the edge of her crop top, sliding upwards briefly. “Let loose for me.”

 

Doyoung shakes her head, not willing to expend any more energy on this conversation. Yuta expression falls and she sighs and lets go, turning away. The skin on Doyoung’s waist feels abruptly cold and in that split second she catches Yuta’s wrist and tugs her back and kisses her, hand sliding up into her hair, pressing into her. Yuta smirks into it and kisses back, open and wet, her hands finding their purchase back on Doyoung’s waist. It’s only when Yuta starts to make her way down Doyoung’s jaw, sucking a dark mark onto her neck that Doyoung pulls away.

 

“Still want to dance?” She asks breathlessly.

 

Yuta eyes her, still smirking a little and Doyoung aches to see it slide off, to see Yuta want her as much as Doyoung wants her. “No,” Yuta says, lowly and pulls her away, away from the glittering darkness of the club, away from the pool of strangers dancing as if it’s their last night alive.

 

|

 

Doyoung wakes up aching and alone. The sheets are twisted around her legs, doing nothing to hide the myriad of bruises left behind by a ghost. She closes her eyes and tries not to remember. Tries not to remember the press of Yuta’s fingers, the cruelly delicious way she’d sucked dark marks into Doyoung’s thighs, the way her breath had fanned over her skin.

 

 _Just for fun_ Yuta had told her, eyes dark and wanting, pressing her up against the door, gripping Doyoung’s waist tightly. A stranger in her own right. _Casual and fun._

 

“Just for fun,” Doyoung whispers in the silence of her room. “Right.”

 

It had started a long time ago, when Doyoung had been desperate and alone and Yuta had been the same. They’re not lovers, they’re not even friends, for the most part, but Yuta always seems to have a supernatural sense for when Doyoung wants her. It had started a very long time ago and now Doyoung doesn’t even know if she can exist without it, without having Yuta there to break her down and build her back up in the silent watch of the night. Only to break her again in the morning when she leaves.

 

|

 

“The thing is,” Taeyong starts, and her tone already warns Doyoung what it’s going to be about. “I don’t get why it has to be _her_.” She makes a disgusted face and Doyoung can’t help smiling. Taeyong has always hated Yuta for reasons she never really made clear but Doyoung enjoys having someone she can spill all her secrets to. Even the pathetic ones.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Doyoung says, watching Taeyong rip open four sugar packets and delicately dump them one by one into her steaming cup of coffee.

 

Taeyong drops her packets on the table and looks at Doyoung accusingly. “There are so many _nice_ girls in this city that you could fuck. I don’t get why you’ve settled with the one that breaks your heart every week.”

 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Doyoung points out, ignoring the way her heart seizes at the words.

 

“No,” Taeyong says. “It isn’t. You’re sad all the time these days. I don’t remember the last time I saw you truly happy.”

  
Doyoung opens her mouth to answer when the bell attached to the front door of the cafe jingles merrily to announce a new customer. It strikes Doyoung as she watches the pair head up to the counter, laughing merrily, that she’s never seen Yuta in the daylight. Has never seen the way the sun shines off her dark hair and tan skin, has never seen the way her laugh looks in broad daylight. Yuta meets her gaze for a split second before she glances away, turning to her friend looking to all the world as if they were strangers. As if she hadn’t left the twin handprints under Doyoung’s shirt, now suddenly burning as if in recognition. She’d never seen Yuta during the day. Maybe it should have stayed that way, Doyoung muses, pressing a hand to her waist, rubbing across her ribs. Then she wouldn’t have to feel this way.

 

“It’s impossible to be truly happy,” she says, picking up her coffee and sipping it, wincing when the hot liquid burns her throat.

 

Taeyong sighs, eyes sad as she looks at Doyoung. “The only reason you think that is because you refuse to let it happen to you.”

 

|

 

Doyoung clings to the sheets, fingers tightening for purchase, mouth open on a gasp that doesn’t ever come. Yuta’s fingers press into her, a never ending rush of pleasure and Doyoung finds she can’t breathe.

 

“Breathe,” Yuta orders, watching her, her other hand a vice grip on Doyoung’s thigh. It’s a delicious pain, the kind Doyoung will relish for days. She gasps for air as Yuta slides her fingers out, dragging them over a spot that makes her seize up, makes her back arch off the bed, makes her come undone easier than anyone else ever has.

 

She falls back against the sheets, chest heaving and stares up at the ceiling, unseeing. Yuta lets out a little laugh, eyes still fixed on her.

 

“Come here,” Doyoung says, breathlessly, tugging Yuta so she’s lying down with Doyoung hovering over her, pulling her into a messy kiss, trying to inject all her feelings into it. It’s a futile quest though. Yuta will never reciprocate.

 

It’s only after Yuta has collapsed back against the sheet, in the same fashion that Doyoung had twenty minutes ago, raking a hand through her hair and fumbling for her lighter, that Doyoung asks the question.

 

“Do you think you’re truly happy?”

 

Yuta arches an incredulous brow at her, now propped up against the headboard, the sheets tangled around her legs. She looks beautiful. Beautiful and untouchable. Doyoung amends the question. “Or that you could ever be truly happy?”

 

Yuta hums, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke into the air. “What is happiness though?” She asks as Doyoung sits up next to her, pulling a thin sweater over herself. It’s far too cold in her room. “It’s not a lasting feeling is it? It’s fleeting, and after it’s gone you’re left with nothing. True happiness implies happiness exists forever.”

 

“Is that a roundabout way of telling me no?” Doyoung asks, reaching past Yuta’s body to get at the bottle of vodka on her nightstand. A regular in her bedtime routine these days.

 

Yuta smirks, blowing a thin stream of smoke at her. “I don’t think I could ever tell you no,” she says throatily, leaning close to Doyoung. “Not with the way you look right now.”

 

Doyoung takes a large sip to avoid answering. Yuta’s eyes darken and she leans down to kiss Doyoung, licking into her mouth, the liquid spilling out between their lips, trailing down Doyoung’s neck, down her chest. Yuta follows it with her tongue, stubbing her cigarette out on the tray on the side table before tugging Doyoung’s sweater off, tongue dipping lower and lower.

 

Doyoung gasps, hand coming up to clutch at Yuta’s hair and at some point, the bottle drops from her fingers onto the floor, spreading slow and viscous across the wooden floor.

 

|

 

The thing is, Doyoung is sure she could cut it off at any point, at any time if she gets sick of waking up to an empty bed and an aching body, she’s sure she’ll be able to stop seeing Yuta. The problem is that she’s not sure if she wants to. She’s not sure if she wants to give up the rush she gets when Yuta smiles at her, dark and mischievous. If she wants to forget the way Yuta’s fingers feel on her skin. If she wants to give up the pain of waking up alone, only to wait for rush of anticipation for the next time they will meet. It must speak volumes about her, that she’s willing to sleep with the same girl, willing to get left behind over and over again simply because it’s the only time she ever actually feels anything.

 

Doyoung can’t really bring herself to care though.

**Author's Note:**

> i might continue this idk. thanks for reading!
> 
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